Some in the congregation had tittered; most had not. But it was not long afterward that his parents were evicted from the manor house they leased and had moved to yet another parish where Reyn endeavored to say nothing but “Amen.”
Molly, the maid of all work he’d hired, opened the door and blinked in surprise. “Good morning, Captain. It’s not Sunday.”
Reyn doffed his hat. “I trust you’ll let me in anyhow, Molly. Is Mrs. Beecham about?”
“She’s upstairs with Miss Virginia. They neither of them passed a peaceful night, I’m afraid.”
“How bad was it?” Reyn asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Mrs. B. worried she’d cough up blood this time, but she didn’t, praise God. Cook’s gone out to get a beefsteak to build up Miss Virginia’s strength.”
Beefsteak probably would not help, but Reyn was grateful to his family’s longtime loyal cook and the other two women who attended his sister. He’d been lucky to get them through Mr. Ramsey’s London List. When he’d explained to the newspaperman why he was applying for the Kelby job, the man had worked a miracle, finding the cottage and the nurse and maid. Ramsey had taken pity on him then, but was not so happy with him now.
Reyn followed Molly up the narrow stairs, ducking his head. The cottage was sturdy, though built a century ago when people must have been considerably shorter—or knocked unconscious regularly by the low beams. Reyn heard his sister gasp for breath, then the comforting murmur of Mrs. Beecham before he entered the little bedroom.
Ginny was propped up against half-a-dozen pillows, her face gray, her dark curls damp beneath a lace cap. To his mind, she was much too young to wear a spinster’s cap, but she might never live long enough to be anyone’s bride.
Poor Ginny. She was just twenty-two, and had spent half her life in poverty and illness. He’d escaped when he was barely more than a boy, but he should have given her a thought before he ran off to enlist.
“Reynold!” Her face lit at the sight of him, but then the coughing spasms began. Her little terrier Rufus thumped his tail, but remained in Ginny’s lap.
“Captain Durant, this is a surprise. But a welcome one.” Mrs. Beecham patted Ginny’s face with a dry cloth. Despite the open window and the breeze wafting through it, beads of sweat shimmered on his sister’s forehead and throat. “Do you want me to leave the two of you alone?”
“If you don’t mind. I promise I won’t tire her too much.” Reyn pulled a chair up closer to the narrow bed and rubbed the dog’s ears. “Good morning, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk. Promise?”
Ginny bit a lip and nodded. Her eyes were fever-bright beneath dark brows as formidable as Reyn’s. She resembled him greatly, from the curl and color of her hair to her long, straight nose to the dimple in her cheek. Where he was handsome, she was handsomer still, or would have been if her pallor did not betray her. But she’d never had a season to show off her dark good looks, never danced, never flirted.
And never would. Reyn restrained himself from punching one of her pillows. It was so unfair. She’d done nothing to deserve her fate. Their parents had died in a house fire two years ago while he was still in Nova Scotia. Ginny had not succumbed, but her lungs had been so damaged the doctors who treated her were not optimistic she would ever fully recover.
It was really a miracle she was still here. She had never been strong, even before the accident, catching cold with every shift of the weather, struggling to breathe in London’s wet yellow fog. He’d been foolish to think the recent move to Richmond might make a difference.
But it had only been two months. He had money for better doctors now, better food, better care. Their old cook Mrs. Clark had done the best she could with limited resources until he’d come back a year ago. The woman was a saint, a better mother to Ginny than Corinne Durant had ever been.
“I may have to go away on business for a little while, Gin. Not far, though, just outside Guildford. If you need me, I can be back here in a trice.”
“Business?” she whispered. “What sort of business?”
“I told you not to speak.”
She grinned up at him. “I never follow orders.”
Nay, she hadn’t. Reyn had had a willing accomplice in his younger sister as they made mischief for